“This is it,” Bee said, gesturing to the sign over a long alleyway that read ‘The Melting Cheese.’
“This? I don’t get it. Where’s the restaurant?”
“Let’s find out.” Bee grinned.
The alleyway was lit by yellow globes affixed to the brick walls, and the distant sound of chatter and laughter drifted from somewhere unseen. We turned a corner and arrived in front of a metal door.
Bee and I exchanged quizzical glances.
I knocked once.
A scrape came and the door opened. A smiling server appeared. “Good evening, ladies,” he said. “Table for two?”
“Yes, please,” I said.
How surreal. We followed the waiter into a cozy restaurant that could seat only about thirty, with a low wooden ceiling, high-backed chairs, and soft mood lighting. The scent of burgers filled the interior, and my mouth started watering.
The waiter seated us at a table and presented us with our menus.
“This place is... amazing,” I said. “And it smells great. I'm starved.”
“Let's see what's on the menu.” Bee opened her leather-backed menu and scanned it. “Everything looks great. They have a double-stacked cheeseburger with crispy onion rings on the side. I know what I'm getting.”
“I'm going to get the chicken burger. They have buffalo wings for appetizers.”
The waiter was back before I could get any hungrier, which was always a good sign at a restaurant, and the music tinkling through the speakers in the corners of the room was pleasant and folksy. The restaurant was full of locals, many of whom I recognized from the food truck.
But I couldn't quit thinking about the Flower Show, Sarah, and the case of the red stiletto heels. If only there was some way we could figure out who had been wearing those heels in the first place. Shoot, if only I had been paying attention to who had been wearing what at the garden party, I might have that answer right now. But was that really conclusive? Probably not.
I scanned the tables in the restaurant while we waited for our appetizers to arrive. I had decided to get the Buffalo wings and Bee had opted for the cheesy garlic bread. We usually wound up sharing our appetizers anyway, and I had to admit the smell of garlic in here was delectable.
“I've been thinking about the murder,” Bee said, “and I don't want to say I'm stumped, but we definitely need more evidence. Something that could possibly link Lori to the crime scene.”
“That's assuming that Lori was the one who did it. What about Sarah and her strange behavior? If she was willing to sabotage Rose’s, well, roses, what else is she capable of?”
“The trouble with that is we don't have any evidence that suggests she was the one who did it.”
“Yeah, I get that, but you saw how Lori reacted to blood. Surely she wouldn't have been able to shoot Brent and run off without passing out?”
“She could be faking.” Bee was ever cynical and that had served her well so far.
Yes, Lori very may well have been faking it, but it seemed quite extreme that she would injure herself to allay suspicions. Then again, what did I know? I didn’t have the mentality of a murderer.
“If only we could get a look at Sarah's shoes,” Bee chuckled.
I laughed too, but a flicker of worry started up in my chest. Bee wasn't beyond breaking into someone's house to get the evidence she needed.
The door to the restaurant opened and two people entered. My eyes widened. It was Joseph, the handsome gardener who had sent Bee’s brain over the rainbow, and none other than Rose-Marie. What on earth were they doing here?
“Hey, look at that,” I whispered.
“Well, that is interesting. They don't look too happy, do they?” Bee had already grown flushed at the sight of Joseph. I resisted the urge to tease her.
“No, they don't.”
In fact, Rose and Joseph looked as if they had a storm cloud hovering above them. Rose tapped her heel, not a stiletto, as she waited for a server to seat them at a table. Was this a clandestine meeting? Could Joseph somehow be involved in Brent's murder?
”Do you think he had something to do with it?” I asked
“No. I believe those two are probably meeting about her garden. I’ll be surprised if things don't get heated.”
“I'm still surprised that Sarah didn't press charges.”
“That makes two of us.” Bee nodded
The waiter arrived with our appetizers, and I was momentarily distracted by the scent rising from the plates. Bee and I swapped Buffalo wings for garlic bread slices, all while keeping our gazes firmly fixed on the table in the corner. Rose and Joseph leaned in, talking in conspiratorial whispers, I could only assume, but Rose's expression said she was furious.
We finished our appetizers, the garlic bread had been cheesy and buttery, the Buffalo wings succulent and accompanied by ranch dressing, and the waiter soon arrived with our main courses.
The evening wore on, and Rose and Joseph didn't stay long. After about a half-an-hour, they finished their coffees, got up and left. I kind of wanted to follow them, but the urge to finish my chicken burger was far stronger. Besides, we weren't even sure that they'd been talking about anything relevant to the case.
And that left me with a sinking feeling in my stomach and the horrible truth that we were no closer to figuring out who had done it.
Bee and I split the bill, then got up and made our way toward the exit.
“Hello, you two!” The call had come from the table nearest to the door. Lori Snow was just rising on her crutches, her left leg in a cast and a bright smile on her face.
“Lori, is it wise for you to be here? I thought the doctor was keeping you for observation? How's your head?”
“Oh, it’s fine. I'm fine. I mean, obviously I’d prefer not to have broken my leg, and I really miss Brent, but other than that, I'm as good as I can be. Are you two finished eating?”
“Yeah, we were just heading home.“
“To the Runaway Inn,” I said. “Are you leaving too? We'd be happy to walk you home if you don't have a car. Unfortunately, we didn't bring the food truck or I’d offer you a ride instead.”
“I walked here. I prefer it to driving,” she said. “I needed fresh air after being cooped up in that hospital bed all day. I'd be happy to walk home with you. It would make me feel safe given the circumstances.” Lori's face lit up with joy at the prospect. She was so young and seemingly impressionable, could she really have murdered her husband? Seemed to me, they’d had their entire lives in front of them, money problems or not.
“Great,” Bee said, brusquely. “Let's head out.”
If anything, this would give us an opportunity to talk to Lori about what had happened. Squeeze her for extra information.
15
The evening air was warm as I strolled down the sidewalk next to Bee. Lori was on her other side, her crutches clacking as she moved.
“Lovely evening,” Lori said. “It’s good to be out of the house. And not in a hospital bed, ha!”
She was cheerful for a woman who had just lost her husband. After Daniel had left me, I’d been emotionally distraught for weeks. I hadn’t wanted to show my face anywhere, but people were different.
“You’re happy tonight,” Bee said.
I’d thought it and she’d said it. Trust Bee to get straight to the point.
Lori slowed down. “Is that strange? I miss Brent a lot, but…” She stopped, shifting her grip on her crutches.
“But?” Bee prompted.
I gestured to a bench under a lamppost nearby.
Lori click-clacked over to it and took a seat with a heavy sigh. Bee stood across from her under the lamppost, and I sat down next to our suspect. Was it right to call her that? She was too happy—that was all there was to it. That and the fact that she'd benefit from Brent's life insurance policy.
“What's going on, Lori?”
“Nothing's going on.” She pressed her lips together. “I just, well, the truth is that Bren
t and I were having trouble. I didn't want to say anything earlier because I was scared you weren't going to take the case. Just because Brent and I were considering our options doesn't mean that I didn't love him or that I did anything to him.”
“What type of problems were you having?” Bee asked.
Lori chewed on her bottom lip, pensively.
“You know, if you want us to help you need to tell us what's going on.” I gave her an encouraging smile.
“I know. You’re right of course.” Another sigh. “Look, uh, what I'm about to tell you I haven't told anybody else, not even the police.”
Bee and I stayed quiet. The tension banded in my chest. Were we about to get a confession? Did Lori own a pair of red stilettos?
“Brent was having an affair. I found out about it two months ago, and he denied it, but I knew it was true. He would come home at odd hours of the night, and he just started treating me differently. So, and I'm not proud of this, but I followed him to find out what he was doing.” For the first time since we'd met up with Lori, her eyes filled with tears. “I saw them… kissing. I was devastated. I just couldn’t believe he would do this to me.”
“And then what happened?” Bee asked. “Did you decide to take Matters into your own hands?”
“No! I would never have done anything to hurt Brent. I told you, I loved him.”
“Lori, who was he having an affair with?” I asked.
“It was Sarah. Sarah Rowland. The woman who won the Flower Show? The one who asked him to sabotage Rose.” Lori's lips peeled back over her teeth. “She took advantage of him, and, I think when she asked him to spy on Rose, he realized what kind of person she was. He made a commitment to me to stay away from her after that.”
“Do you think he kept that commitment?” Bee asked.
I didn't blame her for being curious. If Sarah and Brent had been having an affair that meant that she'd likely seen Brent alive before he died. Soon before he’d died. What did this mean for the case? Could Sarah have grown angry at Brent for rejecting her advances and killed him?
I wasn't sure what to think at this point. All we knew is that we had a female killer on our hands who wore stiletto high heels. That or a man who liked wearing women’s shoes.
“I was going to try to date again. I thought about it before Brent even died because I wasn't sure he was being honest with me. I was going to go out with his friend, Joseph, to make him jealous, but I couldn't go through with it. I know it was petty to think about doing that, but I was so frustrated.” Lori lifted a hand to cover her eyes. “Do you think I'm ridiculous?”
“No, of course not,” I said.
“If you want us to figure out what happened to your husband, you need to tell us where you were on the morning of his murder,” Bee said.
“I was at the library. You can ask any of the librarians there. Look, the police checked out my alibi. I'm fine. What I really need is for you to focus on finding out who actually killed my husband. Stop asking me questions about where I was! I haven't done anything wrong. It’s insulting.” Lori rose, seeking purchase with her crutches. “My house isn’t far from here. I can find my own way home thank you.” She hobbled off then paused and look over her shoulder at us. “Call me if you find out anything useful. I will make it worth your while.”
It was too late to turn back now.
Sarah Rowland's house was right next door to Rose-Marie's, and the garden out front was just as impressive. Instead of clapboard siding, Sarah's house was made of brick, the lights in the windows were off and it seemed Sarah wasn't home. A good thing for us.
“How are we going to get in?” I asked, stooped low, trying to keep my profile out of sight from the neighbors’ prying eyes.
“Well, most people in Muffin and any of these small towns hardly secure their homes properly. It should be relatively easy to break in. She doesn't even have an alarm,” Bee replied.
“How do you know that?”
“No alarm beams in the garden, and the front windows are open.” Bee gestured to them “Let's get inside and see what we find.”
This was probably a bad idea, but we’d gotten pretty desperate to find out the truth. If Lori had an alibi that left us with Sarah, who had been having an affair with Brent, and Rose-Marie, who had had a fight with him. Then again Rose-Marie seemed prone to fighting if the flower show was anything to go by.
Sarah intrigued me. She was clearly willing to do whatever it took to get what she wanted and if that included murdering someone…
All we have to do now was find out if she owned a pair of red stilettos. Actually, if she had one heel, since the other one was in evidence at the Muffin Police Station.
Boy, I wished I'd had dessert at the restaurant. Snooping seriously gave me an appetite, and I would have killed for a donut right about now. Or maybe not killed—poor choice of words.
I followed Bee into Sarah's garden.
It was quiet—only the chirp of crickets and the gentle brush of wind through leaves broke the tension. We stole between the shrubs and flowers, and Bee opened the front living room wide.
I crouched and interlaced my fingers, creating a basket for her to step in so she could clamber inside. Bee slipped into Sarah's house with a thump and an ‘oof’ then got up and gestured for me to go around to the front door.
The knowledge that this was spectacularly illegal sat in the back of my mind, but I held it at bay. We had to do what we had to do to bring the murderer to justice and get Muffin back to normal. Never mind that this might negatively impact how the locals viewed the food truck if things went wrong.
My stomach churned.
Bee opened the front door and I entered. All we have to do now was find the bedroom.
It was a single story house, so that would be relatively easy. We split up and went from room to room. I entered a bathroom, a living room and the kitchen before Bee called softly from another section of the house. I found her in Sarah's bedroom—a pink nightmare, the sheets on her bed were floral, and images of flowers hung in picture frames on the walls.
The place even smelled of roses of all things.
“That's ironic,” Bee said. “The roses. Given that Rose is the one who created the black velvet roses.”
I headed over to closet and opened it. I sucked in a breath. “You’ve got to see this, Bee.”
“What?”
I bent and extracted a red stiletto shoe then held it aloft. Its underside was coated in thick mud. ”It looks like we’ve found our murderer.”
16
“So that’s it then, isn't it?” I asked. “All we have to do now is call detective Wilkes and tell him what's going on. I mean that's pretty strong evidence.”
Bee lifted the shoe she taken from Sarah's closet, holding it by its strap. “It will have to be enough. This combined with the other evidence they surely have should be enough.”
“What other the evidence do you think they have?”
“I can't say for sure.” Bee frowned. “We probably shouldn't have taken the shoe but if we hadn’t, we wouldn't have had any proof that what we’re saying was true.”
“Can we get arrested for this?”
“Definitely.” Bee paused. “Unless we lie about where we found it. On her front porch or out in the garden or something. But then, I’m not sure that—”
The whoop of a police siren shattered the quiet in the street.
I turned in time to see a cruiser pull to a halt a few feet behind us.
“That’s not good,” Bee said.
The sinking feeling in my stomach happened to agree with that sentiment. Muffin had their occasional patrols, but the man emerging from the police car wasn’t a regular beat officer. It was Detective Wilkes, and he’d never looked as somber. He stared down his hooked nose at us.
“Good evening, detective.” I gave a wave. “Nice night, isn’t it?”
He strode up to us, just as another police car turned the corner into the street. It parked behind his car an
d a second officer appeared, just as serious as Wilkes.
“Is there something we can help you with?” Bee asked, the shoe still dangling from her fingertips by its strap.
“I’m afraid both of you will have to come with me,” Wilkes said.
“Where to? And why?” I folded my arms.
“To the station,” he said. “For questioning.” The second officer stepped up next to him, silent but tense as if he’d leap at us at a moment’s notice. “Mrs. Snow has been attacked. You two were the last people to see her before it happened.”
“Is she all right?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that question, right now.” Wilkes nodded to the other officer, and the man came forward. “Miss Pines, you’ll go with Detective Banks. Miss Holmes? You’re with me.”
And that was it. We had to do what they said or things would only get worse.
A million questions skittered through my mind. Trouble was, I wasn’t the one who’d get to ask any of them. That was Wilkes’ job now. Were we suspects in the attack on Lori? In the murder case?
“Right this way, Miss Holmes,” the detective said, and directed me toward the back of his police car.
This was my worst nightmare.
I sat in the corner behind a table in the interrogation room, Detective Wilkes blocking me from a hasty exit—the door was at his back. I’d watched enough movies and true crime documentaries to know that when a detective sat like this, it meant that he was serious. And that he wanted to make his suspect uncomfortable.
“Before we begin,” Wilkes said, tapping his pen against his notepad. “I want you to know that you are free to leave at any time. Your presence here is appreciated, and any answers you give will help us with our investigation.”
“So, I’m not under arrest.” That made sense, since he hadn’t read me my rights yet.
“No, you are not.” He fell silent, his gaze boring into me.
“OK.”
Another length of silence followed. A clock on the wall ticked loudly and I shifted in my seat, discomfited. “What do you want to talk to me about?” That was a stupid question. “I mean, I know that poor Lori has been attacked, but is that all? Do you think whoever attacked her might have been the murderer?”
The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set Page 53